


Buddy Ate Tony Stark's Ferrari

by a_xmasmurder



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental service dog, Accidental service person, Adoption, Bucky Barnes loves animals, Clint Barton IS A DAD, Crack, Does Clint actually ever go home?, Everyone is a train wreck, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Child Abuse, Love is in the Air, Movie Night, Multi, Natasha is a little shit, Neglected animal, Off-screen Relationship(s), PTSD, Recovery, Separation Anxiety, Thor wants pop tarts, Tony Stark is a shit, Wait this dog speaks Russian?, Wanda and Pietro are brats, Welcome to Madness, implied alcohol abuse, implied past animal abuse, rescue dog, the Avengers are a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4498728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes walk to a meeting. They come home with a dog. </p><p>They should not be let out into society together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buddy Ate Tony Stark's Ferrari

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I...um. Yeah. *throws this thing out into the world*
> 
> Thanks to Lestradesexwife for the beta!

“No.”

 

That’s the first word out of Steve’s mouth. He knows _exactly_ why Buck’s stopped walking. He’d seen the building out of the corner of his eye. There is no possible way they can stop now, they are already late. Bucky wanted to get his special coffee from his favorite shop and walk to the meeting instead of taking the Softtail. Well, now Steve’s regretting letting Bucky pick the route.

Behind him, Bucky huffs. “Just a minute.” Steve can practically hear the hangdog expression and the unspoken ‘I used to do everything you wanted to do, punk’.

“No. We are already running behind.”

“I promise, just a minute.”

Steve turns around and stares at the little sign above the door. ‘Heaven’s Little Angels Animal Rescue’ is scrawled in ornate lettering, sky blue on white. The artist in him winces. He squints a little bit. “We have that public service meeting to get to - Bucky? Bucky, no!” It’s too late, though; the moment of inattention is all it takes for Bucky to slip through the single door. Steve groans and mutters at the door, “Alright, fine, you win. We’ll go look at the little animals.” Don’t get him wrong, he loves animals. But not nearly as much as Bucky does. Shoot.

He opens the door and encounters a bubbly young girl before he can clear the threshold. “Hi! How can I help you?” Her eyes go wide with recognition. Steve can see her vibrating with the urge to hug him or whimper or confess every little thing she’s ever done wrong in her life. Thankfully she schools herself into a more-or-less calm exterior. He nods in silent thanks when she doesn’t explode and unleashes his ‘I can get whatever I want because I am Captain America’ smile.

“Hello. I’m here…” He cranes his head in search for Bucky. “I’m here with someone. He just came in. Big guy, dressed like a punk...” He winces because someone - Tony - had told Bucky a week ago to ‘own his freakiness’, and Bucky proceeded to stop wearing his glove after smacking Tony upside the head. “Metal hand?”

“Oh, yeah! Bucky!” Her head bounces. “He went to the kennels.”

“Thanks so much. I’ll just -” He looks around and spots the waiting area. “I’ll just wait here, then.” He sits on one of the brightly colored plastic chairs. It barely holds him, complaining when he shifts to the left. _Best to let him get it out of his system, or he’ll never let me hear the end of it._

After a minute of twiddling his thumbs and staring at the posters of kittens and puppies and the overly happy decor, he picks up a magazine from the coffee table. ‘PTSD and Service Dogs: They CAN Help!’ is superimposed over a full-page picture of a wounded veteran hugging a smiling Golden Retriever. Jesus. Steve presses his lips together because he has been talking to Sam about a dog for the three of them. The only problem is that Sam’s landlord doesn’t allow animals, even service animals. Steve thinks this is completely ridiculous and Sam just shakes his head and mutters ‘thousand-dollar carpets’ while Bucky picks at holes in his jeans. So they’d have to keep the poor thing at the Tower, which _no._ Absolutely not happening.

_Tony will sic one of his robots on me or program my phone to play China’s national anthem during press conferences or something. He would. We can’t have an animal at the Tower, it’ll get in the way. And with our erratic schedules, who would feed it or comb it or play fetch with it? Animals - especially dogs - are an investment of time and money and love. None of which we have in spades. Well, no, we have money, but time? Not to mention that we are emotional train wrecks. And there’s no shortage of things that it could chew up and destroy and -_

He shakes his head and opens the publication anyway, right to the article in question, and starts to read. He’s debating how much he actually values his life and how much damage Stark can do in the Iron Man suit when his musings are interrupted by a shout. It comes from the back of the building, and from the sounds of it someone is getting in trouble. A lot of trouble. Steve sighs. There’s only one person who can get into trouble that quickly other than himself. “Damn it, Bucky.”

He tosses the magazine to the side and jogs to the kennels, ignoring the stares he draws. Volunteers are milling around the middle of the line, like civilians in a disaster. _Oh, shit._ He instantly shifts into Avenger mode. “What’s happening?”

An older man looks up as Steve approaches. “This your friend?” His voice sounds like his expression, which isn’t sunshine and rainbows. When the man gets a good look at Steve, he does a classic double-take, and Steve groans as the recognition sets in. “Uh, Captain America, sir?”

“Yes.” Steve’s resigning himself to the rest of the afternoon being taken up by autographs and political discussions. They are going to miss the meeting with Tony’s legal team, not to mention whatever just happened here could be one massive headache and -

“Your friend has one hell of a way with dogs, sir.” The volunteer sounds...happier isn’t the word for it, but he’s not as irritated.

Steve blinks. “He does?” He leans forward and - _Well, I’ll be damned._ Bucky’s sitting on the cold concrete floor, face to face with a beaten-up sack of a pit bull with half an ear and a missing front leg. He’s got both hands - flesh and metal - braced around the dog’s neck, and he’s looking at it with a soft expression. Steve can’t see anything wrong with this picture. His friend is sitting on the floor with a dog. He isn’t aware that it takes anything more than a love of animals to do that, and Bucky’s had that in spades ever since he learned to walk, as far back as Steve can remember Mrs. Barnes saying. Her voice floats, light and buttery, through his memories: _Always comin’ home with strays, little James is. Ducks and mice and kittens - even you, with your messy hair and skinny bones. Eat your soup now, there’s enough for the Army here._ Steve looks in on Bucky, trying to share the moment, and calms down. “Sure seems friendly enough.”

The old man - George, according to his nametag - shakes his head emphatically. “No he ain’t. That dog there is unadoptable.” George points in the general direction of the cage. “Behavior problems, you see.” No, Steve doesn’t see. George elaborates. “Destructive, mouthy, aggressive. Doesn’t trust people. You can see why.”

Steve nods slowly, seeing the missing parts and the scars in a new light. Only a human can do that to a dog; someone the poor thing trusted, probably. A sick feeling rolls around in the pit of his stomach, both at the ill treatment of the dog and at the new possibility of Bucky getting bitten. It gets worse when he imagines how Bucky would react. How he _will_ react. He tries to ignore it and focuses on the dog again. Some of the marks are obviously not man-made, ragged and closely grouped. _Bites._

George can see the wheels turning in Steve’s head. “Dog fighting. He was brought in months ago from the local ASPCA when they rescued them from a fighting ring being ran out of Harlem, him and his girlfriend. They did what they could to save his life, but couldn’t save his leg or his mate. Poor things.” George rubs his scruff of gray hair roughly. “We can’t rehabilitate him. He just won’t let us. Bullies can be bull-headed, pardon the expression, but this one takes it above and beyond. He’s got nothin’ to live for, I figure. A hopeless case.”

Steve’s mind is rolling as George seems to read off of a script that could have come from Hydra. From Bucky himself. He looks in on Bucky and the pit bull, and swallows. Jesus. “Hopeless? I don’t know about that. Sounds like it just needs a friend.” Bucky blinks, but doesn’t acknowledge Steve in any other way. His focus is on the dog.

George shakes his head again. It’s obvious he cares, but there’s only so much one can do for an animal that hurt. That distrustful. “We don’t think so. We’d hoped beyond hope, but we need the room. This ain’t no way to live, bein’ in a cage because you don’t trust people enough to let the good ones help you. We were going to send him off, put the poor boy out of his pain, y’know?”

Steve nods, sicker than ever. “Yeah.”

“Then your friend comes in and walks right past the puppies and the nicer dogs, right up to this boy’s cage. Stares at him, y’know?” Steve knows the look that Bucky has when he’s trying to figure something out. Intense barely covers it. “Then he just wrenches the door open with that strange prosthetic arm of his and walks in like that dog’s just a month old pup, and -” George shrugs. “I thought for sure that your friend would be going to the ER, but no. The bully doesn’t attack ‘im. He just sits there glowering. Then your friend sits down like that. They haven’t moved since.” George looks back into the cage in disbelief. “Wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes. He’s got a connection with that dog. It sure is something to see. Doesn’t happen often, and not nearly often enough in my opinion. That man there’s got an old soul. ”

Steve just keeps nodding and lets George prattle on, his mind in a wholly different place now. _Old soul just about covers it._ Steve’s stomach flips when Bucky turns slightly, just one eye meeting his. The dog’s head turns too, and it - he - growls low. Steve refuses to back away, even as the others around him do, whispering and worrying. Bucky doesn’t react with anger or fear; instead, he strokes the pit bull’s flank lightly and speaks. It only takes a moment for Steve to notice Bucky’s quiet words were Russian. “Тише, щенок. Стив хороший человек. Он позаботится о вас. Он хороший человек. Он мой друг.”

What Natasha has taught him of the language the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier share comes in handy as he translates on the fly. _‘Hush, pup. Steve is good man. He’ll take care of you. He’s good man. He’s my friend.’_

Slowly, the dog settles down, the deep rumbles bubbling out of his chest tapering off to a huff. He cranes his scarred head around and starts licking at the metal hand that’s scrubbing his scruffy fur.

Steve steps into the cage. Suddenly, the enclosure is the dingy apartment in a darker corner of Fulton Street, where Steve had found Bucky curled up on a bed bug infested mattress shoved into a corner with no blanket, shaking with fever from badly tended wounds and anger. The smell and the heat wash over him all over again, along with the image of Bucky half out of his head in delirium as shattered programming and broken memories swirled around his head in a miasma that made the strongest acid trip look like a sugar high. Steve shakes his head to clear it. No one would guess it if they watched him getting coffees and wandering around New York like he never left, but for a long time after Steve and Sam found him, Bucky’s mind was an unmarked minefield. Back then, he...he was this dog. Steve pushes down the strangling sensation in his chest. Halfway in, he slides down the high wall, making as much noise as he can without startling the dog to let both man and dog know what he was doing. Bucky isn’t the half-wild man Steve found that day, but that man still lives in his head and sometimes comes out.

Bucky watches him, the lighting glinting in his steel blue eyes. The dog watches him with watery brown ones. Steve nods at the wary dog and tries his ‘This is a serious situation and we need to be adults about this’ look on Bucky. It’s never worked before, but hell, what’s one more shot? “Tony will kill us. And we have thirty minutes to make the meeting that is a good hour away.”

Bucky sighs and smiles, the resigned quirk at the corners of his mouth that always buried itself deep in Steve’s heart. It’s his ‘Eeyore’ smile. _Damn it, Bucky._ “I know, and I’m sorry, I really am. We ain’t gonna make it thanks to me. But you heard the man, they’re gonna have to take him back to the ASPCA to have him euthanized. He can’t live like this.”

Steve nods gravely. He knows how it works. He doesn’t have to like it, but it is what it is. You can’t save every animal in the world. “I know.”

“They don’t want to, but I know they will. They have to. ‘Unadoptable’. They can’t keep him here.” Bucky’s voice quiets even further. “I’m not trying to guilt trip you, buddy. But we’ve got a chance here to change his life. And you know how Sam loves pit bulls.”

“Yeah.”

“I think we should take him.”

“Bucky, we can’t -”

“I know we can’t.” Bucky grins. “But we’re gonna. You’ll love the challenge, and you love to do anything to rile Tony up. Not to mention that I’m sure we can find _somewhere_ to live where we can have this little boy. Whaddya say, pal? Wanna break some rules?”

Steve bites his lip and looks back up at George and the rest of the volunteers. “We’ll take him.” 

They stare at him. Come to think of it, he gets stared at a lot, now that he’s got Bucky back.

“Son, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” George shifts on one foot. “He’s a handful.”

Steve looks back to Bucky and grins. “Oh, don’t I know it. But he’s worth the trouble.” The shit-eating grin Bucky gives him makes the lump in his gut disappear.

They’re late the meeting by a good hour, but Bucky has his hands tucked in his pockets and that grin on his face and Steve doesn’t care that they are late. He’s more worried about what he just agreed to.

Tony is going to kill them.

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

Steve wakes up the next morning to let the inspectors into the Stark Tower before they can even ring the doorbell. Why they have a doorbell for their dedicated floors in the first place he hasn’t the foggiest. Probably for pizza deliveries. He doesn’t care, he just doesn’t need anyone waking up and seeing the home inspectors as they wander around making sure the living areas - the ones they could access, anyway - are safe for the pit bull. The Avengers all have their quirks. Well, if one could _call_ it a quirk to shoot the first stranger one sees wandering around in a supposedly secure location straight off in the morning. That could be a problem, and he doesn’t see a reason to get off on the wrong foot with these people.

Of course, nothing ever goes to plan around Stark Tower. Steve forgot to check one vital area before he let them in. Because of course he did. It would have been too easy.

Clint Barton is in the kitchen when Marjorie walks through with a flashlight. He’s frozen in place with a bagel halfway to his mouth and all he’s wearing is boxers and epic bed head. He looks very confused. The inspectors are fully aware of where they are, though, and she takes in his befuddled state before extending her hand. “Hello, then.”

Clint stares at it, then shakes her hand. She turns back to finish her walkabout. She flicks the beam inside of the lower cupboards. “Pretty clean for how many people live here. You all do a good job of cleaning around here, don’t you?” She almost sounds like she’s talking to a kid. Which, y’know, isn’t horribly off the mark. Steve just watches the exchange.

Clint recovers pretty quickly and reaches over her for the coffee carafe, filling his cup. “We have a cleaning crew that comes in every couple days. By the way, I’m not wearing socks. Just thought I’d let you know, since you’re down there.”

“That’s good, and I can see that. Who painted your toenails?”

Clint looks down. “My daughter, if memory serves. Last week. I was in a cast until yesterday. Holding up pretty good, isn’t it?”

“I’d say. Nice shade of green, too.” She hums. “Nothing lying on the floor normally?”

“If you don’t count Tony after a really good bender or Thor after he gets his clock cleaned by the weekly baddie…”

“That’s good.” Unperturbed by Clint’s admission that Tony Stark may be a raging alcoholic or how they lived dangerous lives - which, why is Steve worried about that, this woman knows they are Avengers, it comes with the package deal - she slides past him to the patio, checking the locks and humming agreeably. She throws her next comment over her shoulder as she opens the door. “Someone’s usually here, though?”

“Usually? I mean, the house A.I. oversees most of the goings-on, so I’d say yes.” Clint turns to Steve, who’s standing helplessly at the end of the carpeting, and jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “Something going on that I don’t know about, Cap?”

“Uh.” Steve isn’t sure what to say.

Clint grins suddenly, his eyes lighting up. “He’s pregnant, isn’t he?”

“...what?” Steve is not proud of how squeaky his voice gets when Clint says something completely out of the ballpark. This happens on such a regular basis he may as well go back to church and join the boy’s choir. He might need a little religion after this catastrophe. “Who’s pregnant? And did you just say ‘he’?”

“God of Fertility, my good man!” Clint walks over and claps Steve on the shoulder. “Congratulations, we are all going to be uncles. Except for Nat and Pepper, they’re gonna be aunts. Unless they want to be uncles, too. This is great! My day just got made, man.”

“Well, this just got awkward at a record speed. Men get pregnant?”

“Well, Loki did. Why not Thor?” Clint laughs and finishes off his bagel.

“Loki…” Steve’s quickly losing grip on what he thinks is real.

“Gave birth to a horse.”

Steve takes a breath to say something along the lines of ‘How?’, then decides against it. He changes his mind. “How?”

“Dunno. But it’s in the legends.”

Steve can’t wrap his brain around it. “A horse?”

“Eight legs, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Eight?” Steve’s openly staring. “But…” He’s trying to do the math in his head, but the numbers are turning to Salvador Dali paintings and is that an elephant in a crockpot with a didgeridoo playing Dixieland Delight? “A horse? Loki? H-what? Christ, what are you even _doing_ here, Barton?”

Clint rubs his hands together, coffee forgotten and a grin plastered on his face, and ignores Steve’s plaintive cry. “I’m going to spoil that kid so hardcore. Bedtime is never, candy up to wazoo, and all the cowboys and indians games. I’m down for this.”

_Yep, gonna need lots of religion. Maybe even a Second Coming. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition._

“That is because you are basically seven, Barton. You’d do it even without a kid around. In fact, you do. I see all.” Tony Stark Himself - shit shit SHIT - veers around the corner and grabs a latte cup, then stares out the patio doors. Tony blinks and turns to Steve. “What’s with the woman measuring my patio? Building inspectors aren’t supposed to be here until June.” He goes over to the carafe and fills his cup, changing his mind halfway through to drink right out of the spout. “Ow, hot. JARVIS - oops, FRIDAY, did Pepper change the date on the inspection on me again? I told her the minor explosion in the workshop -”

The patio door opens, and Steve leaps to clap a hand over Tony’s mouth, and the rest of what Tony is saying is muffled. Tony’s face makes some interesting shapes as Marjorie loops around them and shines her flashlight under the couch for a second. Steve has a mini-nightmare about what she’ll find under there, but after a moment she pops back up with another hum of satisfaction. A noise makes them all turn to the stairs to the upper levels.

Marjorie’s teammate steps into view with his hands in the air, moving very carefully. There’s a gun at his lower back

“Oh, God no.” Steve moans. Marjorie stops and stares as Natasha - fully dressed, thank the Lord - appears behind the man and moves the gun to his head.

“Who is this?” Natasha’s irritated. Great.

Marjorie speaks as if no one is holding her partner hostage. “Harry, did you check the rooms?”

“Yeah.” For a man with a gun to the back of his head, he sounds surprisingly calm. “It’s all good up there. I think I woke up an Avenger, though.” Steve wonders who the blue hell these people worked for before starting with the ASPCA and how in the world he can recruit them for S.H.I.E.L.D.. They are unflappable. He could use unflappable.

“I’d say.” Tony finally works Steve’s hand away from his mouth. “So, everything checks out?”

“It’s a great place for him, I hope.”

Marjorie nods. “I agree. We’ll bring him by tomorrow, and you can finish the paperwork then, okay Mr. Rogers?”

Clint’s gaze moves to Steve, and Steve can see the connection being made. Oh no. He forces a smile and nods. “Yes. That would be fine.”

“Alright! We’ll see you tomorrow then!” Marjorie walks to the door and turns. “Miss Romanov, if you wish, you can let Harry go now. He probably didn’t see anything, nor would he care if he did.”

“Hey, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a lovely woman - oof, forgot about the gun sorry! Okay, yes, I saw nothing, don’t shoot me.”

Natasha smirks as she leads both inspectors out of the door.

Steve figures staying still might be the best way to avoid Tony’s wrath. Like a mouse. Or a possum. Maybe he could join a monastery or something. Live in silence for the rest of his life.

Clint lets out a whoop of excitement. “Cap, you ass! Lying about not knowing men can get pregnant, you’re the daddy! Yay! We’re getting a baby! And Jane’s gonna kill you for sleeping with Thor.”

Steve squeaks. “I didn’t sleep with Thor!”

“What?” Tony throws a look Steve’s way. “How are we getting a baby? When did this happen? And why?”

“Thor’s pregnant, somehow Steve’s the daddy, and we are getting a baby! This is so exciting!” Clint runs out the door after Natasha. “Nat, we’re having a boy!”

Tony blinks, and Steve tries really hard not to melt into the carpeting. “I don’t sleep with Thor.”

“Why not?”

Steve squeaks again. “Why would I? I don’t...I’m not...Jane would kill me!” He claps his mouth shut.

“Okay, hold on. Don’t have a coronary, Cap.” Tony sighs and sets the carafe to the side. “Let’s - ugh, there isn’t enough coffee in this world or the next that can help with this. Let me get this straight. We just had inspectors checking my patio, Nat’s room, and under the couch -”

“The kitchen, too.” Steve holds up a finger. “I can explain -”

“And the kitchen,” Tony continues, staring into his coffee mug, “because Thor is pregnant and you are signing papers for him since lucky for you I absolutely refuse to believe you are fucking Thor despite you obviously being bisexual. The baby is going to be here tomorrow. Which, how did I miss that giant demi-god being pregnant? Must be the whole Asgardian transdimensional thing that I don’t understand.” He scowls. “Still working on it,” he adds with a flip of his hand.

“Um, I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, but yeah, let’s go with transdimensional things.” Steve sputters to a halt. “Hold on, _obviously bisexual?_ How the hell do you -”

Bucky crashes down the back stairs and skids out into the kitchen. “Did we pass? I hid because I couldn’t...well, y’know. I really want him. Did we pass?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. Steve, despite being at his daily quota of squeaks already, squeaks. “What? No! I’m not sleeping with Bucky.”

Bucky blinks in confusion. “Huh?”

“Nevermind, Terminator.” Tony takes a moment to glare at the half-dressed man since Bucky apparently took the ‘own your freakiness’ to heart entirely and is not wearing a shirt to hide his shoulder. “You know, I can make that arm a bit more seamless, if you want?”

Bucky looks at his shoulder and dismisses the comment as general Tony-Isn’t-Quite-Awake-Enough-To-Deal-With-This commentary, something that he’s starting to get used to. “Sure, later, if you remember. Because I’m not putting it on my calendar of things to do. Steve! Did we pass?”

Steve grins despite the disaster this has become. Seeing Bucky so excited just does something to him. “He’s coming tomorrow.”

Bucky bounces on his toes. “Can’t wait. Let’s get supplies today. Can we do that? I want to get a water bowl that fills itself. Those things are darb!” He runs back up the stairs. “I’ll be ready in five! Don’t you dare leave without me!”

Tony stares at his coffee mug again. “A water bowl for Thor’s baby boy. And Bucky is excited for a baby boy. That is Thor’s. I’m missing something major here.”

“Yeah, you sure are. I -”

“And I have decided I actually don’t care.” Tony shrugs. “I’m going back down to the workshop, gotta finish the new upgrade for DUM-E. I’m taking the coffee maker with me. Obviously I need to make an attachment that adds whiskey as the coffee is brewing.” He wanders into the kitchen and unplugs the empty coffee machine, holding it like a baby as he rounds the corner. “Tell me when the baby shower is, I’ll make a present for the Son of Thor.”

Bruce pokes his head around the corner of the wall. “Thor is pregnant?”

Steve throws up his hands in defeat. “Sure! Yeah, he’s pregnant. Somehow. I don’t know how, and I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works. But he is. I am not the father, don’t listen to Clint. In fact, I’m not sleeping with anyone in this damned building, thank you very much! And I’m moving to Utah and becoming a Mormon because everyone here is off their rocker and I can’t deal with you people anymore.” He goes to get a cup of coffee. “Shit, Tony took the coffee maker. Bastard. Bucky!” He walks over to the stairs and hangs around the wall. “We are stopping at Starbucks thanks to you! You’re buying!” He leaves Bruce in the kitchen, pointing at the carafe on the counter.

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

There’s baby blue streamers and balloons festooning almost every flat surface in the main room when Steve wakes up the next morning. He rubs his eyes and groans, barely awake as it is. “What the hell?” A huge sign proclaiming that it’s a boy hangs from the rafters above the ‘conversation pit’. “Oh. Great.” He remembers that today is the day that they are going to get kicked out of the Tower thanks to Bucky. “Of course there’s a baby shower. Of course there is. God damn it.”

He is certain he’s going to go clinically insane if this continues. He decides to start small, then work up to the bigger mental that is happening. He strides over to the coffee table normally used for feet and gun cleaning and points at one of the bowls festooning it.

“There’s chips. There are chips in a bowl.”

Bruce, engaged in something complicated on his StarkPad, nods absently and takes another bite of his sandwich.

Steve points at the table now. “Dip. And little mints.”

“Excellent observation, Steve. Can you spot the difference?”

Steve can feel the stress headache forming behind his eyes. “Bruce. I need to tell you somethi -”

“Hey, ho, the gang’s all here! Thor is on his way with Jane, and they have no clue we are throwing a party, this is going to be great!” Clint bounces into the room with two tote bags full of what looked like board games. “I went home this morning and got these. Laura and the kids will be here soon. Connor loves babies. So much fun. Baby showers are fun!”

“And suddenly, the whole world blows up. That would be too easy.”

“Naw, it’d only be easy if Richards did it.” Clint squints. “Or, possibly not. He’s a complicated man. Literally works himself into a knot if he can’t work out an equation. Sorta funny, actually, watching Ben try to untie him.”

Steve sighs.

The main door opens, but Steve ignores it in favor of trying to set the record straight before he loses the plot entirely. “Clint, Bruce, there’s no -”

“Holy crap, you guys went all out, didn’t you?”

Steve turns his head to gather words to explain and stops dead in his tracks because there’s Bucky in the doorway with the dog. He is the one that got up at the crack of dawn to go get the dog, but they weren’t supposed to be back yet. He was supposed to give Steve enough time to control the fallout or at least warn everyone there was a dog coming. He was supposed to go through the back way and take the dog up to their floor when he got back. He...was supposed to do a lot of things, but it’s Bucky. Bucky does whatever he wants because he’s Bucky. Normally, Steve’s alright with this, but when he’s trying to explain that ‘no, Thor isn’t pregnant and there isn’t going to be a baby shower and he’s not going to be an uncle’ to a clearly very excited Barton… “Bucky? Um. You weren’t supposed to be back yet.”

Bucky shrugs. “We took a cab. So helpful, cabs. Arabic guy, we had a fun conversation about Republicans. Remind me not to get into political conversations with a conspiracy theorist, I no longer have faith in the NSA. Not that I ever did, but there ya go.” Bucky winces when he remembers he’s holding a leash, then remembers what is on the other end of that leash. “Oh. Yeah. He didn’t want to go through the garage. One of Tony’s cars scared him and he tried to take the bumper off manually. DUM-E tried to help.” he offers by way of apology. “I didn’t have the heart to say no.”

Clint and Bruce stare at Bucky and the dog, then at Steve. Steve rolls his eyes and groans because that’s the only thing he can do, especially when Tony comes around the corner and jerks to a halt.

“Steve?”

Steve braces for impact. “Yes?”

Tony blinks. “There’s no baby, is there?”

Bucky pipes up. “Yes there is. Right here.” He lifts the leash in his hand. “Say hi to the new baby!”

Tony looks down at the pit bull and cocks his head. He blinks again and tilts his head in the other direction. The pit bull followed his movements carefully, his stance defensive and shuttered. Bucky was in the same position, his shoulders hunched, waiting for a blow. Steve is too busy going through his mental list of places to stay until they can find a house with a yard because he’ll be damned if he stays at another S.H.I.E.L.D safe-house. The list is soul-shatteringly low and Steve thinks they will have to have a stint at homelessness again.

“Well. Congratulations. We have a dog, somehow. Yay. Thrilling. Better than a baby, I’m allergic to babies.” Tony sighed. “If he shits on the floor, it’s your responsibility, Barnes.” He walks over to the table, grabs a handful of chips, and shoves them into his mouth. “Still gonna have a party for it, though. It’s a boy dog, right? Or do I have to get my people to redecorate? I’d rather not, because I hate most shades of pink unless Pepper is wearing them. But let’s not do the whole gender thing. Blue for all babies - ”

Steve cuts him off. “He’s a boy, yeah.” He feels like they’ve dodged a bullet somehow. He’d expected anger. Cussing. Things being thrown. One of the suits breathing down his neck. Maybe he’s dreaming. Steve takes a quick look at Clint and snorts. The man couldn’t look any more excited or his head would pop right off and roll away.

“Works for me. Jarv - _FRIDAY_ , have someone pick up a doggy cake and treats. And speaking of Pepper, call her. We don’t have to get things baby proofed against an infant demi-god, just a mutt. She might be sad, but hey, dog!” He grabs more chips. “I’ve got a meeting that I don’t want to be at in an hour, I need excuses. Mingling at a baby shower is a good one, use it.”

“Right away, Sir.” Friday sounds ironic and snarky today. She’s fitting right in.

“Perfect. So, a dog.” Tony turns to Bucky, who is looking less worried. “A dog that is missing some parts. Good job on adopting a special needs animal, by the way. I hear that’s a good thing. Got a name for him yet? Hopalong? Van Gogh? Mussolini? Whatever you Russian people name things? Spot?”

Bucky smiles. “One, I’m not Russian, I’m from Fulton Landing. You’re a few blocks shy, there. And two, no name yet, not really. I’ve just been calling him buddy.” He shrugs. “Y’know.”

“Good. Buddy. Buddy’s a good name.” Tony heads to the kitchen. “I need copious amounts of coffee.” He stops and snaps his fingers. “Oh yeah. Forgot. Blew up the coffee maker last night. FRIDAY? Order me a coffee maker.”

“You have one, Sir.”

“I blew that one up. Last night. Experiment. Keep up.”

“You have more than one. The other one is in your bathroom."

“Oh.” Tony grins. “Forgot about that one.”

“Why do you have a coffee maker in your bathroom?” Clint grabs a handful of chips for himself as Tony makes his way out of the room.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Who in their right mind would have one in their bathroom?” Steve can’t believe his dumb luck that Tony seems to be taking this in his stride.

“Who said I am in my right mind?”

“No one did. You are just proving the point.” As always, Natasha appears out of nowhere with an apple in her hand. “So, there’s no baby.”

“No, no baby.” Steve should be relieved that no one is freaking out. He’s not.

She looks at Bucky and the dog, who looks comfortable enough now to be sitting on the hardwood floor. He still has a wary look on his face. “Yeah, I knew it. I grilled Mr. Walk In On A Woman As She’s Showering on the way out yesterday.”

Steve growls. “You could have helped me explain.”

“Nope.” She bites into the apple. “More fun to watch you try. I also wanted to see how far everyone would go with this. Apparently, very far.”

“Hey!” Clint mutters around his chips. “Thor’s Asgardian. You never know.”

“Really? I never slept with the man! God! Whatever!” Steve can’t believe this.

“Ha! I wasn’t serious about you bangin’ Thor, man!” Clint claps Steve on the shoulder. “But that was hilarious.”

“I’m going to kill everyone in this room,” Steve mutters.

“So, anyway!” Tony claps his hands together. “We have a dog.”

“Bucky has a dog. The dog is his.” Steve should get that out in the open right now.

Natasha smiles. “Should be interesting.”

Clint is making his way over to Bucky, and Steve just knows that the dog won’t like that. Sure enough, the pit bull growls and lowers himself to the ground. Bucky reacts better. “Barton, don’t get too close until he knows you. He’s really leery of people.”

“I’m good. I’ve been around dogs a lot. Also know what abuse does to things.” Leave it to Clint to see that right off the bat. Steve watches as Clint goes down to one knee close to the pair, much like Steve had in the kennels. Slowly, he settles onto his rear and crosses his legs, looking off the dog’s shoulder. “Hi there, Buddy.” He keeps his voice pitched low and calm. “How are you?” He get a low grumble in response, and he smiles. “That’s it, that’s a good boy. Protect your friend. He’s your friend, now, right?” He produces a chip out of nowhere and sets it on his knee. “It’s a treat for you, if you want it.” He looks up at Bucky. “I’m gonna spoil the shit out of Buddy. You know this, right?”

Bucky smiles, a bemused smile that always reminds Steve of a lion watching a herd of antelope. “Yeah. Give him time, though.”

“No problem.”

Buddy is having nothing to do with the humans talking above him. He’s fixated on the chip on Clint’s knee.

“Someone shut the door, the air system is throwing up all sorts of alarms that I don’t remember setting!” Somewhere in the hall, a bathroom door slams. Both dog and supersoldier jerk. But Bucky keeps smiling. Buddy’s front paw flexes on the floor like he wants to get the chip but no, there’s a human attached to that chip and he doesn’t like humans but there’s a chip right the heck there. He licks his chops and fidgets, settling his stocky frame into a calmer posture. Clint doesn’t move.

“It’s going to be right here, if you want it, Buddy. I’ve got all day. Night, too, if you want.”

Steve grins at Bucky. “Sounds like his name’s Buddy now.”

Bucky nods. “Sounds like.”

 

They still have the shower, and everyone is happy. Wanda and Pietro make an appearance, which surprises everyone but Clint. Wanda’s brother has been out of sight for the last few months, ever since recovering from the hell that Ultron brought down on the people of their small country. Seeing him now has warmth rolling through Steve’s veins. Pietro is wary of Buddy, and Buddy is wary of Pietro. But Pietro is wary of everyone, and Buddy is wary of everyone, so it is fine. Wanda flicks her fingers at Clint’s children and make things pop and fly and flicker in and out of existence. The kids are in awe. Tony threatens to hire her out to the circus. Wanda makes his coffee maker disappear, and Clint fires a Nerf bow at Tony’s forehead. Neither of them are happy, and Tony only understands one of the reasons. He tones it down and switches from whiskey to his smoothies.

Clint hands Pietro a chip and tells him to sit down on the floor and not to move. For some reason, Pietro actually listens to him. Steve gets a feeling he knows why.

Board games and mints and shoes are everywhere, and some of the balloons bop around the conversation pit as everyone drinks and laughs and pointedly ignores the poor dog in the corner, staring at Pietro. Sam wedges himself between Steve and Natasha and grins. “Dude, I can’t believe you got a pit bull! Best day ever!” He throws his arm behind Steve.

Halfway through a spirited game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey that little Lila is winning by a landslide, Buddy gives up on staring at Pietro and pads over. Low to the ground, the pit bull sticks his head out as far as he can while watching Pietro and licks the chip off his knee. Pietro laughs, and Buddy darts for cover. He ends up pressed as far as he can get himself under a plant stand, and Bucky abandons a backrub from Natasha to talk him out of it.

He still has the chip in his mouth, and deposits it on Bucky’s knee.

Steve can’t breathe for a moment, because Bucky used to do that. He’d take something, but put it back if someone saw him because he felt he wasn’t allowed to have it. Steve swallows around the lump in his throat.

Bucky only smiles and picks up the wet chip, holding it out for Buddy to take. “Здесь это твое.” He speaks in Russian to Buddy. _Here, it’s yours._ After a few minutes, Buddy takes the chip again and holds it carefully, not eating it.

Lila, Clint in tow, walks over and waves to Buddy. “Hi doggy! I won the game!”

Buddy stares at her, and Clint kneels down behind Lila. “Honey, he might not like you. Let’s stay right here so you don’t scare him.”

Of course, Buddy proves him wrong by wiggling his butt just a tiny bit and blinking, sniffing the air in front of him.

“It’s okay, doggy.” Lila waves again. “I’m gonna go play again.”

Buddy huffs and swallows the chip.

Thor is devastated that he’s not going to be a father, but assures Steve that there’s very little chance that he can actually become pregnant. Unfortunately, he also regales Steve and Sam about how Loki gave birth to a horse. Steve wants to join a monastery again because that is not imagery he ever wanted. Sam just laughs a little wildly and leans back further into the couch, drunk on happiness and beer. Steve might be blushing, or it could be the Asgardian booze, but the room is getting stupidly warm.

Bucky grins at him and winks. _Oh hell._

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

The first night in his new home, Buddy howls loudly for three hours. Tony nearly breaks down Steve’s door. His hair’s a mess, and he looks like he could collapse right on the carpeting. “Cap, you have got to be kidding. Is this going to be happening all the time?”

Steve is sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face. He hasn’t slept a wink. “Christ, I don’t know.” It’s like the first few weeks with Bucky back all over again. Steve’s going to have a breakdown.

Tony blows out an exhausted breath. “Damned mutt. Got to make something to help it sleep that doesn’t involve lasers.” He disappears from the doorway, and Steve blinks owlishly. A door down, he can hear Bucky consoling the pit bull with words straight from his own mouth when he’d talked his friend down from the hell that was his mind, only in Russian. “Это будет в порядке, я обещаю. Я не собираюсь оставлять тебя. Я здесь, Бадди. Не волнуйтесь, я никогда не буду тебе больно. Это будет в порядке в ближайшее время.” In fact, it seems Bucky only speaks to Buddy in Russian. It seems to calm the dog down, at least.

Steve lays back down, those words running through his head over and over again. _“It’s going to be okay, I promise. I’m not going to leave you. I’m here, Buddy. Don’t worry, I’ll never hurt you. It will be okay soon.”_ Buddy morphs into Bucky, and Steve’s transported back to his best damned friend staring at him with something like fear in his eyes. _He’s better now. He’s better, and Buddy will get better. He has to. This can’t be for nothing._

Steve punches his pillow a few times and tries to sleep.

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

The second night is much the same, but the howling starts well after midnight and only after Steve heard Bucky having one hell of a nightmare.

This time, Tony doesn’t come to Steve’s door. He goes straight to Bucky’s and flicks the light on, which is enough to rouse the man. Steve’s right behind Tony. Bucky waves them both off after scrubbing his metal hand through sleep-mussed hair. Buddy’s in the corner growling threateningly at Tony and Steve.

“Tell that dog to quit with the growling.” Tony hisses, and Buddy only growls louder.

“No can do, boss.” Bucky scrunches his nose. “You’re in his territory.”

“I’m sorry? I’m the one that pays taxes on this place, _and_ you are all staying here rent-free.” Tony snaps. “It’s my territory, dog.” He says this directly at Buddy, who shows his teeth.

Bucky gets to his feet and sits next to his dog. “You haven’t pissed in each corner. You’re lucky he hasn’t attacked you yet.”

Steve winces as Tony cusses Buddy out in English for marking his territory. Buddy cusses Tony out in Dog for barging in all unannounced in nothing but silk boxers. Natasha, who has come to watch the argument, shakes her head and rubs circles into Steve’s back as he winces at each bark and shout. Bucky’s laughing now and rubbing circles into Buddy’s hackles.

Tony pulls up short. “Hey, no one gives me backrubs! Why can’t I have backrubs?”

Buddy huffs and paws at Bucky.

It’s five in the morning when everyone finally gets back to sleep.

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

Bruce discovers that Buddy loves his Italian leather deck shoes after he finds them in tattered pieces scattered on the patio. Bruce cusses Buddy out in English, and switches to Punjabi when Buddy gets louder than him.

Bucky’s curled up on the couch with his feet in Natasha’s lap, getting his toenails painted by Lila. He’s laughing at Bruce and Buddy’s argument. “Hey, I can’t watch him all the time, guys. He’s a chewer. No shoes on the floor.”

Clint pauses in making oatmeal for Lila and Bucky. “You know, I wholeheartedly agree with Buddy’s decision to chew up those god-awful shoes. You should invest in a good pair of hiking boots. Better for your ankles, especially at your age.”

Less than a minute later, Clint and Bucky get chased down the street by the Big Guy. Buddy sits on the patio and watches the shenanigans, a careful three feet between himself and Natasha, who is holding Lila in her lap.

Steve and Sam stand behind them, awful close to each other, and laugh.

It’s a good day.

 

That night, Buddy howls until precisely 3:56 am. This time Clint’s the one that calms Buddy down with a blueberry sucker and quiet words about his childhood. Steve watches from the doorway once more, and he’ll be damned twice if Clint doesn’t speak in Russian. Damn it, that man’s quick.

Bucky, nearing the same level of frustration that Steve is at, joins his friend at the door. “Jesus, Stevie.” He blinks at the pair on the floor. “What can I do? Tony really is going to kick us out at this rate.”

Steve nods tiredly. “We’re lucky he’s at a convention tonight.” He pulls Bucky close. “All we can do is hope Buddy realizes he’s safe here. Maybe he’s missing his mate.”

Bucky nods. “Ma used to have an alarm clock that she’d tuck into the blankets when my baby sister couldn’t sleep at night.”

“Could work. I’ll look for one online.”

“Already found one, got it on overnight.” Clint holds up his phone. He digs around in his shirt pocket for another sucker. “Until then, you might want to keep the light on.”

Bucky gawks at Clint as he lets Buddy lick the sucker. “Damn it! One was fine, but two? Don’t feed him sugar, he’ll get fat!”

Clint laughs, and Buddy makes a sound none of them have heard out of him before. It’s a little warble-huff-whine, and it almost sounds happy.

Clint leaves around 4:30 am so Bucky can try to get some sleep. As he pulls the covers over his shoulder, he listens to Buddy’s snoring and wishes Clint’s dad was still alive so that he could rip the son of a bitch to shreds.

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

Buddy’s been living at the Tower for a month, and for the most part it’s been a good month. Things are starting to get back to normal, finally. He’s sleeping through the night, thanks to the ticking clock. Steve is sleeping through the night again. Bucky is sort of sleeping, sort of keeping watch like Steve used to. Tony is...well, he’s not sleeping again, but who knows what’s going on in that man’s head.

Life at the Tower hits a calm that it’s not seen in a while. No one is trying to take over the world - well, other than whatever the hell is happening in Hell’s Kitchen, something about a blind guy - and Spiderman seems to drop by every so often to give a status report. Steve and Natasha go off with their new team, and Bucky lounges around the living areas in sweatpants and does yoga. Buddy watches him cuss through a few interesting shapes and tries to help by sitting closer and pawing at Bucky’s hip. Bucky flops to the floor and laughs, feeling better than he has in weeks.

Clint and company goes back home a couple days after the blueberry sucker incident. With school starting soon, Clint wants to get Connor and Lila ready. He promises to keep in touch. Like most plans that Clint makes, it goes to shit rather quickly. His special Avengers card - the one with communications technology that blows Bucky’s mind - goes offline on a Sunday. Despite attempts to reach him, Clint goes off the grid.

By Wednesday, the new Avenger team plus Thor, Tony and Bucky are gathered in the ‘situation room’ making plans. Natasha is pacing, clearly agitated, and snaps at Sam when he tries to talk to her. Vision postulates that it’s because the last time Barton went missing, he’d been controlled by Loki. This time, he was with his family, the family that Romanov clearly cares for. Vision gets a throwing knife inbedded in his left arm. He looks at Bucky, who has another one ready and a nasty glare on his face. Buddy is growling at Vision. Steve feels he might need another friend when Bucky gets killed a second time.

Clint chooses this time to barge through the double doors. After the prerequisite bitching from everyone, he’s sat down and poked at by Bruce and Sam. He’s got a nasty concussion, two cleanly snapped ribs, and his family in tow once more. Bucky, who has become very protective of the Barton Family, narrows his eyes at Clint.

Clint waves his hand wearily. “Leftover Hydra agents. Couple of the assholes found out we were having a picnic in Central Park and crashed the party - hey, where are you going? I already took care of them, jackass!” Clint pushes Sam out of his way and lopes after him. Buddy follows them out the door. A minute later, the doors open again and Buddy and Clint are shoved back into the room, followed by the words, “I will handle this.”

After Clint is sat back down again, Steve takes a quick headcount.

Yep, Natasha is missing, too. _Shit._

Buddy is unconsolable. He doesn’t stop for two days. He throws up from the stress, and not even suckers or Lila tossing a ball helps. He scratches at the big wall of windows and whines until he throws up again, then whines even louder. Steve wants to cry for Buddy, he really does.

After another sleepless night, he finally goes to where Buddy has set up his midnight vigil by the window. Clint is sitting next to him.

Buddy is still whining, but at least he’s laying down.

“I got him to drink some water and eat an egg. He’s coming to terms with Bucky being gone.” Clint turns and winces from the pain in his ribs. “Poor guy’s exhausted himself.”

Buddy whines a little louder, and Steve’s eyes tear up. “Jesus, Buddy. He’ll be back. He’s with Nat. Nothing will happen to them, they are tough.” Buddy looks up at him with watery, sad eyes and starts to howl.

Steve turns to Clint. “Translate, please? I really think this dog only knows Russian.”

“Probably. There’s a big dog fighting thing in that neighborhood.”

“Of course there is.”

Clint shrugs. “Buddy responds to Russian commands better than English.”

Steve runs his hands over his face. “Shit. Okay.” He talks, and Clint translates. It takes until the sun just starts to lighten the sky, but Buddy finally passes out.

 

The next night, Bucky and Natasha return. They are bruised and battered, but they are standing. They look satisfied. They both accept hugs from the kids. Bucky turns around, Lila and Nathaniel in his arms. “Hey, where’s Buddy?”

Steve doesn’t know how to tell Bucky this. “Well, he’s in your room.”

“Oh, good.” Bucky stops. “Shit, no, not good. He doesn’t even like me leaving for pizza, shit.” He drops the bag of stolen weaponry and grips the kids tighter. “Lay it on me. What did he destroy?”

Tony snorts and straightens his tie. “What didn’t he destroy? I’m gone, I’ve got a gala to attend.” Now that everyone’s back and mostly in one piece, he disappears into the elevator.

Bucky has the good grace to look chagrined. “Uh…”

Steve nods. “Separation anxiety dialed up to ten. Remember when you punched a hole in the wall of my apartment because you couldn’t get the microwave to work and had a breakdown over it?”

“Yeah.” Bucky winces. “And a hundred times again, sorry for making you lose your security deposit. So, I don’t have a room anymore.”

“Not everything!” A stampede tramps down the stairs. “I saved your favorite pillow!” Connor skids to a halt in front of Bucky and holds it up for inspection.

Bucky snorts and takes the mess of wet flannel and cotton batting, rubbing Connor’s head. “Thanks, little man.”

Buddy is at the foot of the stairs, staring warily.

“Looks like you’ve got some apologies to make, dude.” Sam folds his arms.

“Sure do.” Bucky gets down to one knee. “Hey, Buddy. Sorry about that. I’m back.”

And that’s all it takes. Buddy trots over and plops down in front of Bucky, tongue lolling and eyes blinking brightly. He’s happy.

Above them, FRIDAY comes to life. “Sirs and Ma’ams, I’ve been instructed to ask all of you - and I quote - “What the hell happened to my Ferrari?” - end quote.”

Bucky winces, and it looks like Buddy does too. “Uh. Well, ma'am. Remember when I said something about Buddy getting scared of a car when he first got here?”

“I’m sure it’s in my memory banks, Mr. Barnes.”

“Yeah. Buddy ate Tony’s Ferrari.”

Later that night, after the gala, noise erupts in the main rooms of the Tower. But instead of Buddy howling all night, Tony Stark howls at Buddy - literally howls - in an attempt to get the dog to understand that no. One. Touches. The. Cars. Buddy doesn’t argue for once.

“I’m thinking it’s because he’s in shock. Tony Stark. Howling. Like a dog.” Steve leans back against the couch. Bucky’s head is in his lap. Most of the bruising is already fading, but Bucky doesn’t want to fall asleep yet because of a possible cracked skull.

“I think it’s because inside, Buddy is dying of laughter. We should have had popcorn for this. Stark’s gone crackers.”

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

One more month finds everything back to normal. Even more normal than normal can be, actually. They fall into the old routines again. Clint and family go back home after a very heated discussion with Maria Hill and a not-dead Fury about what measures will be taken to ensure the Bartons’ safety. In the end, Pietro decides it all for them when he shows up in the meeting with a backpack and suitcase. “Didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

Clint snorts and cuffs the kid on the head. “I didn’t, no. You call me old man once and I will make you re-shingle the roof on the barn.”

The New Avengers coexist both in their dedicated facility and at the Tower. Sam cooks dinners, Steve makes breakfast. Natasha doles out fruit at weird times of day. Wanda throws butterscotch drops at everyone. Bucky becomes an unofficial Avenger, and Buddy gets better about his friend leaving the Tower. Slowly.

“Y’know,” Tony points out one day over Hawaiian pizza and Coke, “Buddy hasn’t shit all over the place like I thought he would.”

“He was housetrained, I guess.” Steve shoves another piece of pizza into his mouth. “Damn, this is good. The soda is not.”

“What’s wrong with the soda?”

“It isn’t Coke. This?” He rattles his glass. “This isn’t Coke. It’s a pale comparison.”

“Spoiled brat,” Tony snorts. “I’ll put the cocaine back into it.”

“Thank you.” Steve grins. “Anyway, just be glad he hasn’t pissed in every corner to stake his claim.”

“No need. I already did.”

“Gross.” Steve throws his napkin at Tony. “So gross.”

“I know. Pepper locked me in my cage for a week.”

“So, don’t need the cleaning lady?”

“Nope. Really glad we don’t.” Tony hums. “I should treat him.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

Tony spends the next five hours staring at Buddy. Buddy stares back with the canine equivalent of confusion on his face. Then he falls asleep, and Tony continues staring. Steve can see the wheels turning in the genius’ head, and he leaves him to it.

There is no more howling in the middle of the night. Everyone sleeps soundly.

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

Tony disappears into his workshop the next morning and comes out once to hand Bucky a tape measurer as the man comes in from his daily run. “I need dimensions.”

“Huh?” Bucky stands in the doorway, confused. He can’t ask what Tony wanted dimensions of because Tony disappears as soon as he appears. He looks at Sam, who can’t help him at all. He and Steve are focused on the news and trying really hard not to be curled around each other. Bucky shrugs and gets on with it.

Throughout the day, different people find Bucky in different positions in the Tower. Darcy Lewis finds him with everything pulled out of the fridge and his head in the freezer. “Hey, whatever gets you though, man.” She picks up a bag of grapes. “Thanks.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky mutters to the frozen box.

 

Sam sees his feet sticking out from under one of Tony’s cars. “Don’t touch it, man. He’ll howl at you.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll howl in Russian, and I’ll cuss at him in Spanish. This is a multi-lingual household.”

Sam smiles at him and claps him on the knee. “Okay, then.”

 

Thor nearly sits on him, and apologizes when Bucky coughs out some dust. “You people really need to dust around here,” he mutters as he gets back to work.

 

He throws a wrench at Clint when Clint slaps him on the ass while he’s hanging half off the outer wall of the Tower. “Why are you even here? Aren’t you supposed to be at home?”

“Laura kicked me out for ripping up the carpet in the living room again.”

“You need to stop doing things at the farm that aren’t actual farming.” Bucky shoves his pencil behind his ear and lets a little more rope out of the harness, dropping a foot. “Get back inside, or at least put on some gear, you lunatic.”

 

Everyone yells at him for blocking their view of Mario Kart. He flips them off.

At the end of the day, Tony gets the dimensions of the helipad, the sofa, the big screen television, the refrigerator, and his Aston Martin. There’s also notations on the paper about how big the A on the side of the Tower is in centimeters. Tony is suitably impressed. “Thank you and your climbing gear,” he says around a donut that Pepper shoves into his mouth after taking a allen wrench out of it, “but I was talking about the mutt.”

“He’s not a mutt, you know.” Bucky stands a bit cock-eyed. The climbing had been a hassle, but he wanted to be precise. He’s got a bruise in a bad spot because of the harness. Honestly, it was worth it to watch Buddy all but lick the window right out of the frame trying to get to him after he’d went inverted for the hell of it.

“Yeah, he is.”

“He’s a pit bull, true blue.”

Tony snorts. “All dogs are mutts unless they are wolves. I want his dimensions.”

Bucky growls and limps out of the workshop.

Tony gets his dimensions in an hour. Natasha treats Bucky’s wounds because Buddy has decided he doesn’t like tape measurers or oven mitts. Clint is upset over the oven mitts because they were his favorite. Bucky promises to buy him new ones if he stops ripping up carpeting.

Steve risks getting bitten and opens Bucky’s door that night. Buddy is curled into Bucky’s side on the floor, and they were sound asleep. The desk lamp is on its lowest setting, bathing the room in a warm honey glow.

Steve closes the door and goes up to the roof with his drawing pad. He sketchest out the soft lines of sleep from memory. Sometime after 3 a.m., Natasha sits down next to him and hums a song. Steve thinks it might be from her childhood, but it could be from his.

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

Buddy gets comfortable enough that he slinks out into the conversation pit while it is occupied. His head hangs down, body language all but screaming ‘don’t look at me, I’m not here and you don’t see me’. Tony is nowhere to be found. Thor and Jane are curled up on the loveseat, talking in low tones. Darcy is sprawled on the floor, buried in her tablet. Natasha stretches out on the couch with her feet on Sam’s lap and her head propped on Bruce’s thigh. Steve has his full attention on the newscaster who was detailing the latest tragedy in a far-flung city, hands fisted tightly on his thighs. One of Sam’s hands is covering Steve’s, but everyone is pointedly not noticing. Bucky whittles away on a chunk of wood, light tan shavings littering the carpet at his bare feet. He ignores the latest tragedy that he just _knew_ he had a hand in. He’s probably failing miserably. Somehow Clint is there again - Laura needed time with Nathaniel - leaning against the end of the couch that has Natasha’s hair fanned over the arm, his fingers stroking the red strands. Connor and Lila are quietly reading books in the other loveseat. Wanda and Pietro are the only ones not present due to a gyro run. Well, Vision isn’t there, either, but he’s probably hitting on FRIDAY or something like that, Steve figures.

Buddy pads around the perimeter of the room, considering places to inobtrusively settle. After a minute of quiet speculation by the potted plants and tasting one of the leaves, he slowly makes his way over to Bucky’s feet. He sniffs the shavings on the floor, then sniffs Bucky’s feet. He drags a tentative tongue over the top of the left one.

Bucky makes a noise that men pumped full of super-soldier serum shouldn’t make. Steve starts a tally for Bucky’s squeaks.

Sam snorts out a laugh, and Buddy looks up at him with a disgruntled ‘what the hell are you laughing about?’ expression, then bends back down to continue licking since he didn’t get kicked for the transgression. Bucky stares down at Buddy, his left hand wrapped around his right. A small trickle of blood meanders down his metal fingers. Sam smiles at them. “You okay there, Buck?”

Bucky doesn’t look away from Buddy. “He’s licking me.”

Clint chuckles. “That’s a good thing.”

“Licking wood chips is a good thing?”

“Hell, they lick their own buttholes.” Clint shrugs. “But he’s not licking wood chips. He’s licking you. Your foot must taste good.”

“Doubt it.” Bucky looks back down, where Buddy has moved from the left to the right, cleaning methodically from ankle to toes. “Why is he doing this?”

“He likes you, man.” Sam stretches a little, then goes back to giving Nat a one-handed foot massage. “Dogs lick things they like.”

Then Buddy stops licking altogether and hops into Bucky’s lap.

Everyone freezes. Bucky lets go of his bloody hand, and Buddy cleans that up too, then licks the red off of his metal hand and flops back against Bucky’s chest and licks his chin. His butt wiggles just a little bit as if he’s afraid to be happy, but there’s a huge doggy grin on his face, and an even bigger one growing on Bucky’s face.

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

Two weeks pass with a new side of Buddy showing. He’s a playful pup; he tosses his own toys into the air and at people, he nicks assorted items from everyone’s rooms and hides them, and he never turns down a game of fetch. Steve is amazed at the complete turnaround Buddy seems to have taken since Human Contact Day. It’s like the moment he realized that he wouldn’t get hurt for wanting to be a dog, he went hog-wild making up for all the days of fear. He always has something to say, whether it’s barking at the birds outside or barking at the television or barking at Tony when he’s busy. Thor swears he is singing when he warbles out a howl at the pigeons on the patio railing. He takes every opportunity to find where Bucky is and climb into his lap, sit on his feet, or throw a rope at his head.

Bucky opens up, too. He smiles more. He spends more time in the open areas of the Tower. He starts conversations - usually with something about his dog. He’s interacting more with everyone, to the delight of Sam and Steve. He’s a new man. Steve begins to think that getting Buddy that day is the best thing that has happened to, well, everyone. Because despite his insistence that Buddy is Bucky’s dog, the whole of the Avengers family has adopted him. Hell, Clint is even in negotiations to take Buddy on walks.

That one thought pulls Steve up short one morning as he flips another piece of french toast. “Buddy hasn’t left the tower since he got here.”

“No, not really.”

Steve jumps a little. “Jesus, Buck, make some noise when you walk!”

“Naw. It’s too funny to see you squirm.” Bucky leans his jean-clad hip against the counter. “And you’re right. Except to go outside to do his duty, we haven’t walked him.”

“Why not?”

“Dunno.” Bucky shrugs. “He was too skittish before. Just getting the leash on him the day I brought him home was hell. Now, though? We’ve been too busy.”

Steve nods - they have been, actually. Very busy. “Poor guy.”

“I don’t want people staring at him either.” Bucky says this so matter-of-factly that it takes a moment for it to register with Steve. He stops, spatula half out of the pan. Bucky continues. “I mean, it’s probably just my paranoia talkin’. But just the idea of walking around the city park with a three legged dog tied to a obviously fake arm…” he huffs and smiles his ‘Eeryore’ smile again. “Yeah, I’m just talking out of my foot. Don’t listen to me.” He walks out to the living room and plops down in front of the television. Buddy skids out from the hallway with his rope toy and leaps into Bucky’s lap to slap him with it.

Steve wants to throw something out the window. He doesn’t.

Because he doesn’t throw something, he doesn’t see Tony on the patio.

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

No one’s heard ‘boo’ out of Tony except for Avengers business for two days. There’s a moment where Steve might have seen him stealing a steak from the grill, but it could have been a mirage. FRIDAY assures the team that he is still alive, just busy. Vision has his own opinions.

“He is overworking himself again, I see.”

“As he does.” Thor turns around from the cabinets under the mini bar. “Do we have those toaster pastries still? I have found nothing in the cupboards, and I wish to have something to eat during the movie.”

“What the hell can he be so enamored with that he won’t come to movie night?” Clint throws popcorn at Sam’s head. “Move, birdbrain! I can’t see the screen!”

Sam shakes his head and tosses the popcorn right back at Clint. “How can you not see the screen, the screen is the wall. Go find a perch somewhere that isn’t in the far back.”

The old crew - plus one - is piled into the miniature movie theater Tony put in after Manhattan Round Three and a Half, otherwise known as ‘The Day The Avengers Met the Guardians and Rocket Tried to Steal Bucky’s Arm’. Bucky and Buddy occupy the middle of the bean bag heaven on the floor, the dog sprawling over Bucky like a floppy comforter. Bucky and Buddy now have a routine where Bucky would sit down on any available surface and Buddy would sit on Bucky, no matter what position the former is in. Bucky tried it the other way around when the Seahawks were playing on the television, but Buddy bit him on the ass and refused to eat anything but blueberry suckers and raw eggs for a day and a half. So ninety pounds of dog sits on two hundred-plus pounds of man, and everyone is happy.

Steve and Sam are lounging on the overstuffed loveseat, sharing a bag of popcorn and a soda. Somehow, everyone missed the moment they actually became an item. But everyone knows now. Bucky staring at Sam over Steve’s amazing pancakes earlier that day, groaning dramatically about how old-fashioned dinner dates were and how Sam should just take ‘Stevie’ to a roadside diner in Nevada and give him a blowjob under the table might have tipped them off. That little bit of advice caused one trip to the emergency room for Clint who inhaled and choked on a piece of bacon, one case of the ‘Holy shit, now I need brain bleach’ from Tony, a spilled cup of coffee and three pancakes on the floor from Bruce, a free third breakfast for Buddy, and a genuine gut-busting laugh from Natasha. Officially, Sam and Steve are a thing now. But now that it’s official, they no longer bother hiding it - or even keeping it family-friendly. Sam’s hand is traveling and Steve’s not doing a thing about it. Everyone’s right back to square one, pointedly not noticing that things are heating up in the loveseat.

Thor finally sprawls on the nearest sofa to the wall, digging into a box of Good n Plenty candies that he’d found behind the bar. He picked the movie for tonight, so they are watching The Princess Bride for the tenth time. Clint and Natasha who are sitting on the far sofa, admit to have willingly watched this movie more times than that, and plan on matching the dialogue the entire time. Everyone is alright with this, because they promised to do it in Cantonese. Steve is very intrigued, and Sam’s still in awe that Clint is pretty much a polyglot.

Tony makes a not-so-grand entrance just as the screen is lightening and tells FRIDAY to shut it off. Amid the peanut gallery’s indignant squawks and shouts of ‘what the hell, man?’, he clears his throat and beckons DUM-E into the room. The robot holds a metal...something in its grippers. Buddy’s on alert, but doesn’t otherwise move from his floppy comforter position. He’s ready to protect Bucky from whatever the hell this new thing is.

“Calm yourself, young man. The robot means no harm.” Bucky pulls Buddy’s huge head to his chest.

“Okay, so, we know that Buddy is missing an arm. Leg. Whatever.” Tony’s got his ‘I’m helpful, see I’m helping’ face on. Steve and Sam disentangle, and Clint and Natasha lean forward like good agents. Bucky’s still got his arm around Buddy, and Buddy is still focused on DUM-E. Thor is still munching on the candy. Tony focuses on his main group, the ones sitting right in the middle of the mess. “Anyway, he deserves better than that. I went ahead and made him one.”

Bucky blinks up at him, and Buddy cocks his head. “Huh? You...made him an leg?”

“Yeah. That’s right. Buddy is going to match you, Robocop.” He waves DUM-E forward more and takes the metal contraption from the grippers. “Okay, I don’t know how you guys actually go around touching him, but if you can have him, I don’t know…”

“Buddy, up!” Bucky grunts and pushes at Buddy. Buddy does his best impersonation of a sea lion as he shuffle-flop-grunts off of Bucky’s lap. “Seriously? You are a slob, dog.” He gets a wet tongue to the face and groans as everyone laughs. “Fuck off, dumbass.” He gains his feet and walks up to Tony. “Let’s see it.” Tony passes it to him, and he turns it over in his hands. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Sure as shit, it’s a front left leg. It’s not as technologically advanced as Bucky’s prosthetic, but it doesn’t have to be. There’s joints that move fluidly and paw pads that have some sort of sensor built into them. “Hot and cold,” Tony points out as Bucky fingers the little pads, “pressure and vibration.”

Bucky nods. He strokes the harness that is fitted to the prosthetic to hold it on what’s left of Buddy’s shoulder. The part that sits against the skin is reinforced and padded for comfort. Bucky blinks away the sudden wetness in his eyes, and he just knows he’s blushing something fierce.

Buddy works his way off the bean bags and snuffles around DUM-E, clamping his massive jaws around randomly picked parts to see what moves and what can be considered food or toy. DUM-E whirrs worriedly.

“Hey, Buddy. Leave the poor robot alone and c’mere a sec.” Bucky crouches and motions with his hand, and Buddy obeys after sneezing DUM-E’s scent out of his nose. Getting the prosthetic on the pit bull is a study in patience on both sides; shifting, adjusting, some minor growling from man and dog, a muttered curse and a snap when Bucky pinches some skin in a clip, and a headbutt and a lick.

Bucky sits back on his ass and admires Buddy and his new leg.

Everyone admires Buddy and his new leg.

Buddy cocks his head, trying to figure out why everyone is staring at him. Then he realizes the extra weight on his front. He looks down, and recoils slightly from the thing on him. It comes with him. He whines a little, but that doesn’t help.

He looks at Bucky, who smiles and nods. “It’s yours, Buddy. Your new leg.” He won’t acknowledge the little hitch in his voice when he says ‘leg’. He won’t.

Buddy, after a moment of looking around wildly, settles down enough to really examine the thing on him. He licks it, then chews on it a bit. He lifts it, and it whirs to compensate for the movement. It bends like a dog’s leg should bend, albeit a little slower. As everyone watches, he seems to have an epiphany about it as he repeatedly lifts and lowers the prosthetic, watching with a dog’s curiosity at how it obeys his commands.

“Huh. It works.” Tony sounds surprised.

“You didn’t know it would work,” Natasha deadpans.

“First time, doll. Don’t rag on him too much.” Bucky grins. “And hot damn, it does. Look at that!”

“You have that on tight, Buck?” Clint calls from the couch, and Bucky turns to nod. “Good, ‘cause that dog is about to bolt.”

And bolt Buddy does.

“Huh.” Tony stares after him. “JArrrrr-FRIDAY? Remind me to go into making prosthetics for animals? I’m gonna go pass out on the bean bags now. Which, since one of the most dangerous people in the room has gone to track down the mutt, I can do. Night night.” He flops face first into the beans. He doesn’t even feel the blanket Thor throws over him.

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

“Buddy! Hey, come back here!” Bucky’s looked everywhere for him, and the last place is Tony’s suite on the top floor of the residential part of the building. The front door is wide open, so Bucky just walks in. “Tony, I think all your Roombas escaped.” He trips over a miniature Roomba. “Nevermind, found one.” He picks the little thing up, and it clicks and beeps in his hand, its wheels spinning uselessly in the air. “It’s alright, tiny...robot thing.” He looks up. “Buddy, you in here?”

He’s expecting an answer, which isn’t normal. Is it?

He checks every room on his way through the suite, and finds the master bedroom door wide open, light on and soft music playing. He pokes his head in.“Anyone home?” Pepper’s off in China or something, doing Lord only knows what for Stark Industries, so there’s no danger of running into her here. But he’s not sure what Tony’s got running around his living quarters. Or if it’s sentient and will answer him. Best not to take chances. “Bueller?”

A snuffle, too soft for normal ears, alerts him that the only one in the room is Buddy. Bucky walks in and stands just outside the walk-in closet, the one with a catwalk and a half-moon of mirrors at the end - _Christ, these people were chock full of themselves, weren’t they? Suppose that’s what money will grant you._

Buddy stands in front of the mirrors, staring at himself.

 _Jesus, and people say that animals don’t have a sense of self._ Bucky walks down the catwalk, shaking his head at the opulence. He stops just behind Buddy. “Hey, there. Whadda think?”

Buddy glances around him, locking eyes with Bucky for a moment, then goes back to staring at himself. Bucky kneels down next to his dog. “It’s strange, I know. Getting used to a new arm.” He took a breath. “I don’t remember when I lost mine. I just remember coming to being dragged by someone. Watching the trail of blood.” He sits down next to Buddy. “Then I was out again, and when I woke up the second time, it was to…” His lips pull into a bloodless line, and the mirror reflects his haunted expression. “They were cutting the rest of my arm off, I suppose, for this fucking thing.” His left hand flexes.

Buddy settles onto his haunches.

“First thing I did with it was kill someone. Go figure.” He huffs. “Sometimes, I wonder. If there’s a killswitch up here.” He pokes at his head with one metal finger. “Something someone’s just waiting to trigger.” The mere thought makes his gut wrench with a cold lance of fear.

Buddy whines, and he scrubs the dog over the head. “There are good days and bad days. Bad days, I try to take it off myself. Take a knife and just...y’know?” He swallows. “Bruce and Tony both have told me that they can’t take it off for me. It’s hardwired, attached to my muscles and bones and nerves. If I try to get it off, I could die. Not that I would mind, sometimes.”

Buddy leans over on his good leg and pressed his whole flank against Bucky’s side. Bucky laughs off his ennui. “But then there’s good days. Natasha will make one of us do something ‘for the Vine’. Sam will dive-bomb the reporters camped outside of this tower. Clint will challenge me to a shooting contest with Nerf guns. Tony will spend hours just staring at my arm and then start throwing things at me because it boggles him - that’s hilarious, confusing that shithead. Bruce will give me tea or help me meditate or do something so completely out in left field for him like juggling coffee cups. Those days, more than any memory I’ve got left, let me know that I’m here. Nothing can stop me. Can’t focus on the what ifs. I’ve got a life to live.”

Buddy licked his face.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting, asshole!” Bucky laughs, and Buddy starts chewing on the harness strap. “No, don’t do that. You’ll get used to it. You are in good hands now.”

 

\--------ooooooo---------

 

A month later Tony is cursing Buddy out again. “I’m gonna learn Swahili so you can’t - no, stop barking! Stop getting louder than - shut up! I am trying to scold you for eating the cookies Natasha made, and you are howling, why are you _howling!_ Don’t make me raise my voice! FRIDAY, make this dumb animal shut up!”

Buddy keeps barking pleasantly, perfectly happy with himself for dragging two dozen organic oatmeal and honey cookies off the counter and eating a good chunk of them. He is also perfectly happy to be louder than Tony, from what Steve can hear. He leans back into Sam’s chest, enjoying the back massage his boyfriend is giving him. It’d been a rough one again - he’d been thrown through a building. Not fun. He gets why Clint always complains about his concussions having concussions. Speaking of Clint, Clint has somehow weaseled his way into ordering twenty pizzas for everyone, and Bucky went with him to pick them up. All Steve needs is authentic, swimming in grease, cheese up to the heavens and screw the crust pizza. Like, the good stuff. The good stuff. Slices the size of your head. And a Coke. Gotta have a Coke.

“Did someone remember to tell Clint Coke?”

“You said the new formula tastes wrong.” Sam whispers into his hair.

“Don’t care. Need a Coke.”

“Wow, you are needy tonight!” Natasha shoves a cookie in his mouth.

“Mfffhejgh.” He pulls the cookie out of his mouth. “Must be the concussion I got from going _through_ a building. I require coddling. You didn’t pick this off the floor, did you?”

“Oh, you big baby. Whatever dust is on it will be murdered by your immune system. Eat it.” She plops down next to him and Sam and turns on the television.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works. Besides, dust doesn’t taste - my God, these are amazing!” Steve shuts up and eats it.

“I am going to kill this mutt!”

“No you aren’t,” everyone sing-songs, and Tony throws the rest of the cookies at them.

Clint and Bucky return, loaded for pizza-loving bears, to find a cookie war in progress. Buddy is in the middle, leaping into the air and catching cookies mid-flight and stashing the ones he doesn’t eat under the couch.

“Aw, cookies,” Clint groans. He gets one in the face.

“Don’t feed him cookies, he’ll get fat and never want anything else!” Bucky shouts, and gets three cookies and a potholder thrown at him.

 

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